


The Adventure Of The Empty House (1894)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [130]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, Destiel - Freeform, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock returns – with a bang!





	The Adventure Of The Empty House (1894)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



In retrospect, I really only had myself to blame for almost getting killed that day. But then again, there were one or two very minor compensations.....

+~+~+

Spring came early in the 'Ninety-Four, although I barely noticed the greenery along the length of Baker Street. My heart was still firmly in winter, and had been for three years now. And as March the twelfth, the anniversary of that awful day in Kansas, drew ever nigh, I felt a rising torpor. I dreaded having to get through yet another day full of the memories which still, sometimes, woke me screaming in my bed – or sometimes, now, Sherlock's bed - at night, leaving me unable to get back to sleep.

The fateful day itself had started with a shock. I had always considered our landlady to be one of the most well-balanced members of the fairer sex, so I was surprised when, whilst I was getting dressed, I suddenly heard Mrs. Harvelle screaming from the landing. Fearing that the lady was under some sort of attack, I nearly topped over in my bedroom as I struggled to pull on my trousers, and rushed out barefoot, armed only with my walking-stick. The landlady was leaning back against the balustrade, looking deathly white.

“S… sorry, doctor”, she stammered. “Just…. the biggest spider that I have ever seen! It fell from the ceiling and went into that cupboard so fast!”

I am not normally subject to arachnophobia, but I knew that that was a particularly poorly-lit cupboard, and in the interests of general species preservation – reader, do not smirk! - I decided to live and let live. I spent some moments with Mrs. Harvelle until she had recovered, then went back into my bedroom to finish getting dressed.

The other strange thing that morning was the matter of the key. I chanced to glance at Sherlock’s bedroom door, and was surprised to note that the key had been removed from the lock. Presumably Mrs. Harvelle must have taken it for some reason, though bearing in mind her recent shock, I would not trouble her as to why just now. I put on my coat, sparing my usual fond glance at my late friend’s ridiculous lumberjack hat, and made a mental note that I had to get some more ivory soap – Sherlock’s favourite, and now mine – before leaving for the day.

+~+~+

I had three clients that day, two regulars (unfortunately, in both cases) and a new one at the daftly-named Empty House, not far from dear 221B. This was officially “Elm Tree House”, but a series of short-term owners and some long periods between the same had led some local wag to repeatedly change the name-board, and the previous owners – the Basings, if I remembered correctly – had not bothered to correct matters. The place had an address on Baker Street itself, but was set some way back from the thoroughfare, almost a quarter of a mile up its own drive.

Mr. Hubert Penstone, presumably the latest owner, was my last call of the day. My instructions were to admit myself if necessary, as the only manservant was, the surgery had been advised, particularly hard of hearing, and might not hear my knocking. I duly entered the house, and noticed that there was one open door leading off the ridiculously huge hallway. Trying to shake off the strange feeling that I was being watched – I hated big houses without enough people in them – I walked over to the door and knocked before entering. A man was sat in a large padded swivel chair, facing away from me.

“Mr. Penstone”?” I said, advancing a few paces. “Doctor John Watson. You sent for me.”

The man spun round, and I noticed two things, neither of them good. The first and most obvious was the revolver he was pointing straight at me. The second took a fraction of a second longer to register, but was far more shocking; the man was the spitting image of Professor James Moriarty. It had to be his brother, Kurt. 

I was a dead man walking.

+~+~+

“Hullo, Doctor Watson.”

I stared in silent shock. 

“I believe you met my half-brother, James, on one occasion”, the man said, his revolver unwavering. “Indeed, I believe that you were instrumental in securing his untimely demise. And your friends have most certainly been cutting a swathe through my family of late. I had thought we were just being unlucky, until a certain communication from across the ocean.”

“Communication”, I said dully, cursing that I had my bag in my right hand, and not my revolver. He smiled evilly.

“Unfortunately for you, your government friends were ever so slightly careless”, he said with a snide smile. “One of my brother’s aides was shot and left for dead, but he managed to reach the edge of town, where a Mr. Edgar Gaines found him and tried to save him. The man died, but not before he had communicated recent events to Mr. Gaines who, after almost three years of effort, saved enough to cross the ocean himself and find me. Only then did I realize what was afoot, and that you and your late friend were guilty of murder.”

“You are Mr. Kurt Moriarty!” I ground out. He smiled evilly.

“James was six years younger than me”, he said. “My brother stood by me always, despite his business interests.”

“His criminal business interests”, I amended. The man waved an admonitory finger at me. 

“Now now, doctor, you would not want to disgrace yourself in your final minutes”, he said reprovingly. “Any last requests? Apart from stepping out of the room, that is.”

“Yes”, I said bitterly. “A time machine. So I could go back to when I saved your brother’s miserable life on that blasted quayside, and break the Hippocratic Oath for the good of mankind!”

There was a brief flicker of surprise on the man's face before he masked it.

“I do not believe you”, he said with a yawn, though he kept his eye on me. “Anyway, enough of this. There’s a train leaving Victoria for Dover in just under an hour, and I fully intend to be on it, and back in France tonight. Your journey, I am pleased to say, ends here.”

Before I could think to do anything, there was the flash of gunfire. I winced – but there was no pain. Looking at Kurt Moriarty, I saw a stunned look on his face as the gun slowly fell from his hand, and an ominous red patch began to spread itself out over his pristine white shirt. 

There was a faint cough from behind me. I spun round, and saw a man’s figure outlined in the doorway, clearly holding a gun. Even in the limited light, I knew who it had to be.

“Lucius!” I sighed gratefully. “Thank the Lord that you are here!”

The figure edged forward, moving slowly into the dusty beam of light coming through the single, large window. First a pair of oddly familiar worn-looking brown shoes came into view, then some smart blue trousers and a familiar beige long-coat. Finally the man’s head was illuminated, and I gasped in shock. _Blue!_

That was the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness.

+~+~+

I was on a couch, and someone had opened my top shirt buttons so that I could breathe more easily. For a moment I felt confused, but then I remembered – Mr. Hubert Penstone, alias Mr. Kurt Moriarty. The gun!

I shot bolt upright and yelped, only for two strong hands to grasp me firmly by the shoulders. I panicked only momentarily, before I remembered that evil excuse for humanity sitting there, slowly bleeding to death because….. oh.

My vision came back, and the blurry figure in front of me slowly resolved into something dearly familiar. Impossibly scruffy hair, stunning blue eyes, that sharp nose, those chapped lips in a hesitant smile.

“You bloody bastard!” I yelled. 

Maybe not the best welcome back into my life that I had ever given, but there he was, kneeling before me by the couch. Mr. Sherlock Castiel Holmes, the man I had seen blown to kingdom come. Surely I was dreaming? Or was this Heaven, and I had indeed been killed in the Empty House?

With a massive sob I fell into his arms, and he held me close to him. I could feel his heart beating, and the doctor in me diagnosed automatically that the rhythm was both a little irregular and above average. Though probably not as much as my own, which could not believe that this wonderful man was back in my life. I was an emotional wreck of the worst sort, but I could not bring myself to care. Three years of pent-up emotion broke me like a dam in a storm, and I was glad to break.

Finally what few shreds remained of my dignity eventually managed to convey to me that I was making a complete fool of myself, and probably ruining my friend’s shirt in the process. I pulled back, my breath still ragged, and stared at him in silence. Wrecked hair and all, I had never seen such a beautiful sight in all of my life.

“How?” I demanded, wondering for a moment if this was some sort of trick, and I would wake up Sherlock-less in my own bed again. “How on earth….. I saw it! I saw you die!”

He looked a little ashamed at that.

“Luke is waiting outside”, he said, “and he will take us the short distance back to 221B. I will explain all once we are there.”

I wiped my eyes – it was an exceedingly dusty room, I should have mentioned – and pulled myself together.

“Let us go!” I said.

+~+~+

Sherlock poured out the coffee as Mrs. Harvelle withdrew, smiling to herself. I snorted as she left.

“Some spider!” I called after her.

I was sure that I heard a snigger as the door closed. I looked hard at Sherlock, who was trying and signally failing to look innocent.

“I have been following your every move these past few days”, he admitted. “I meant to introduce myself to Mrs. Harvelle this morning, but unluckily she opened the door to the very place in which I had chosen to take shelter. Little wonder that she was surprised, although she covered it up admirably when you came charging out to her rescue. Although not, thankfully, to deal with the spider as well!”

“And you took the key this morning, I suppose?” I groused. “Hell, I even _smelt_ you! You still use that damn ivory soap, and that was what reminded me that I have to buy some.”

He looked at me in surprise.

“You never used to like it”, he said. I blushed fiercely.

“I.... needed something to hold onto”, I said, staring hard at the floor.

He was kind enough not to push it. I accepted a coffee-cup from him, and gave him a thoroughly displeased look. He responded with a full-force kicked puppy look that Sammy himself would have been proud of, and I sighed in defeat.

“Lawrence”, I said pointedly.

He nodded.

“It is a long story”, he said warningly.

I sat back, revelling in a main room that now had its rightful Sherlock back in it. My life, which had looked set to meet an inglorious end just hours ago, was now so good.

“We have all the time in the world!” I said firmly.

Our main room was quite dusty, too. The maid really had to do better.

+~+~+

“Do you remember the case of the unpowdered nose?” he asked. “Because that was where it all began.”

I nodded.

“Kent, back in 'Seventy-Eight”, I said. “Our first Christmas in Cramer Street.”

“You may then recall that our client, Mrs. Fulready, was the sister to the victim, Mrs. Garsdale”, he went on, “and that the latter had been the midwife who helped deliver me. I know that since it is you, I do not need to ask for your discretion in this matter, as it touches on certain sensitive family secrets that, when you relate this tale, you will of course ‘gloss over’.”

I nodded, impatient for him to get on.

“What caused my sudden departure was that, five years after that case, Mrs. Fulready unexpectedly came into some information”, Sherlock said. “Her late sister had bequeathed her several items from her house, including a large and rather ugly dresser, which Mrs. Fulready had consigned to a back room. In 'Eighty-Three, one of her guests chanced to see it, and told her that it was a rare German piece, and would fetch a considerable sum if sold. She, having no particular liking for it, duly contacted several local shops, and agreed a selling price with one that included their removing it. However, whilst cleaning it in the shop, they discovered a letter taped to the inside of one of the drawers, and naturally returned it to her. When she read it, she came to me at once.”

“What was in it?” I asked. Sherlock hesitated.

“After Gaylord's birth”, he said slowly, “my father had suffered from a fit of depression, as his business was going through a difficult period, and to put it bluntly, my mother sought solace elsewhere. Only for a brief month before my father recovered, but as we well know, it only takes one time.”

“Oh”, I said, wincing. I could see where this was heading.

“Not quite what you are thinking”, he said. “The man she sought solace with was someone else that we have encountered elsewhere, though not in person. He was Mr. Jameson Collins, father of the two Mr. James Collinses that we met in the Greek Interpreter and Broken Batman cases.”

I was trying to keep up, but I felt steadily more confused.

“Mr. Jameson Collins was determined that he would play some role in his bastard son's upbringing”, Sherlock said. “Except that when the great day came and with Mrs. Fulready's help, my mother was safely delivered - of twins! Hence a compromise was arrived at; Mr. Collins took on one of the boys – the youngest by eleven minutes – and adopted him as his own, giving out that he was the son of a distant cousin of his who had died giving birth to him. And my mother successfully convinced my father – although I suppose I should not call him that – that the other child was his. Fortunately Sir Charles was not there at the birth, and those who were were well paid to keep silent.”

“So that was what happened in 'Eighty-Three, to take you from me that time?” I pressed. He nodded.

“Mr. Jameson Collins had died by that time”, he said, “and I took the decision to approach my twin and apprise him of what had happened. As you may remember, his elder half-brother James was the Greek Interpreter, and the other brother Jason had long been hung for his crimes, so he had little in this world. I suggested that a new start in a new country might be good for him, and he expressed a desire to settle in the western United States, in particular, the very house you saw, “Reichenbach”.”

Now I understood my reaction at the falls in Switzerland. The other Reichenbach.

“Why did you not tell me?” I asked, feeling a little hurt at his lack of confidence. “I would have understood.”

He smiled warmly at me.

“I know that you would have”, he said, “but at the time I had thoughts only for Jimmy. My suddenly discovered twin brother. I had hoped to settle him there and be back before the end of the year – 'Eighty-Three – but unfortunately he almost immediately became entangled in a lengthy lawsuit over the land that I had purchased for him, so I had to stay on to clear that up. If you ever think that the British legal system moves at a snail's pace, at least it moves!”

He paused for a moment.

“Even after all the legal matters were cleared up, I could see that Jimmy had not settled in his new life”, he said. And I loved Kansas, but I came to miss London and all the things associated with it. Baker Street. Mrs. Harvelle’s cooking. The London fog. This house. Big Ben striking the hour. Even my annoying brothers.”

He paused before adding softly, “I missed you most of all.”

I blushed.

“When I suggested that I might return, Jimmy was eager to come with me. We rented his property out – it provided him with a healthy income – and my family used its connections to find him a place in the Army, which was what he wanted to do as a career. Had I only had Mrs. Moseley's foresight, I would never have sent him down that particular dark path. I myself had a much happier life, I came back, you welcomed me back and everything was fine, until….”

“Until Professor James Moriarty”, I said grimly. He nodded. 

“After we met poor Jimmy that time, he wanted to go back to the United States again”, he said. “That was understandable, given what had happened to him. We kept in touch, and as the Moriarty case developed, it became clear that, at some point, an attempt would be made on my life. It was Jimmy who had the great idea. I paid for his house to be completely refurbished, and amongst the ‘improvements’, they added a basement and a thick concrete floor, both reinforced.”

I nodded.

“The plan was that Lawrence was where we would lead the doctor to his doom”, Sherlock said. He looked at me a little uncertainly. “Part of me did not want to drag you into danger with me, but part could not imagine doing it without you.”

I blushed. Again. This was becoming a habit.

“Once I knew for sure that Moriarty's agent was following me, I went out to the house”, he said. “I am sorry that I drugged you and left you behind, but I could not risk your life for the world. Jimmy was waiting for me at the house, and we set up a dummy dressed in my clothes on the porch. The place was wired to be blown to kingdom come, and when we saw Moriarty and his men approaching, we retired to the basement. I had rigged a small telescopic device so that we could see when they reined up outside, and when they did, we detonated the explosives. I had arranged things so that the explosion would be mostly outwards, with as little damage as possible to the floor. Even so, Gaylord and his men had to clear away a lot of wreckage before they could retrieve us.”

I stared at him, suddenly sombre.

“Three years to the day”, I said, trying not to sound bitter. “Over a thousand days; God alone knows how many hours. What were you doing?”

I really should have known his answer.

“Protecting you.”

+~+~+

“I knew from Luke that there were six members of Moriarty’s family who, because of their Italian ancestry, would seek revenge against you if once they knew that you had been involved in their kinsman’s death”, he said slowly. “I am not a killer by nature, but to protect those I love, I would go far indeed.”

I shuddered, again reminded of even this great man’s potential for evil.

“Luke found them all for me, but I insisted on dispatching them all myself", he went on. "I started in Italy with his cousin Luigi. I held him at gunpoint whilst I explained what had happened, and told him that he had a choice. Either he would swear on the Bible that he would never harm you or anyone even loosely associated with you, in the knowledge that if he did, I would unleash the full fury of both my family and the British government against them and theirs. Or if he wished to make an issue of it, I would offer him justice any way they chose. Luigi Falconi chose a duel with rapiers, presumably unaware that it was one of the skills that my father insisted that I learn to a high level.”

“That was the end of 'Ninety-One. Three months later I cornered two of his brothers, Matthias and Markus, on a boat. They refused my offer and tried to rush me. I shot them both, and made it look like an accident at sea. I suppose by this time you were thinking that Luke or poor, innocent Bacchus was behind it all?”

“I doubt that Bacchus has ever been innocent in his entire life”, I snarked, “let alone poor!”

He smiled at that.

“I had to wait until February of ‘Ninety-Three before I could get at the other close cousin, Edouard Dubarry up in northern France”, he continued. “Like the brothers, he tried to rush me. Contrary to what most people might believe, the number of victims who contrive to get shot whilst walking near a shooting range is surprisingly small!”

I chuckled.

“I was tracking Moriarty’s father Louis next, but he had a formidable bodyguard. That took me to London just after the royal wedding, and I decided to go and see the unveiling of the new fountain in Piccadilly Circus….”

I gasped. 

“So that was you!” I all but shouted. He nodded.

“I was lucky that I took the precaution of being in disguise”, he said. “Then I saw you, and you were looking straight at me. I so wanted to go over and tell you I was alive – you have no idea how much, John - but I knew that if I did, I might be endangering my best friend in the world. Turning away from you then hurt me more than anything.”

Damn dust in the room, making both of us have watery eyes.

“The cold weather at the start of this year gave me the chance to finally get at Mr. Louis Moriarty”, he said, making a visible effort to pull himself together. “Several of his staff went sick, and I obtained a post in his kitchens. It was easy to add an undetectable poison to one of his meals, such that he would die on a particularly cold day. I offered him the antidote if he would swear on the Bible not to harm you, but he would not.”

“Yet at the last, Kurt Moriarty evaded you”, I said. He shook his head.

“Luke has been tracking him ever since his father met his end”, he said quietly. “And although we allowed him to keep his gun, not only was it rigged not to work, but the bullets were all blanks. I was not prepared to wager the life of my closest friend to capture a criminal, even one as important as this.”

“And now you are back”, I said. “Back where you belong. Oh.”

He looked surprised.

“What is it, old friend?” he asked.

“I just realized that I’m going to have to explain to the English-speaking world how you came back from the dead!”

He chuckled with me.

“It was rather dramatic having Professor Moriarty push me over the edge of the Reichenbach Falls”, he said. “Perhaps I managed to evade him at the last minute?”

I stared at him silently.

“What?” he asked, clearly bemused. 

I gulped. Doctor John Watson's Legendary Emotional Constipation threatened to overwhelm me, but I knew that this was a turning-point in my life. I could do this.

Probably I could do this.

“Answer me one question”, I said, trying to keep my voice level. Judging from the sharp look he gave me, I failed by some distance.

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“You love me”, I said, “and I love you. We wear each other's rings. Yet we have never..... you know.”

“Never waved our hands about in a vague manner?” he asked, smiling at my incoherence. Bastard!

I took a deep breath. There was no going back from this. But then, I had been his from that first meeting nearly two decades ago. It was time to go that final, irrevocable step.

“Wehaveneverhadsex!” I said, possibly not quite as calmly as I might have wished.

“Would you like to?”

I stared at him in astonishment. I had just put myself through the mental equivalent of Purgatory, and he was talking as if I had asked about a second helping of pie!

“Of course I wanted to, John”, he smiled. “Many times. But it would not have been right, for two reasons. First, because of the dangerous life I lead, as has recently been more than amply demonstrated. And second.... because you never asked.”

I drew a deep breath.

“I am asking you right this minute, you snarky bastard!” I said firmly. “I want you inside of me. Right here, right now, in this very room.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, but I had risen and already started to remove my clothing. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, also undressing. He was much quicker than me, damn him!

“I have waited years for this”, I said, stepping out of my underclothes. “Including three years without you in bed beside me.”

“Bacchus and Gaylord were sure that you would find someone else”, he said, reaching across and gently tweaking my nipples. I groaned in appreciation.

“New rule”, I growled as I lay back on our couch and raised my legs. “No mention of brothers during sexy times. Get thee inside me, O great detective.”

I flinched as he breached me with his finger – I had never been opened up like this, and a part of me wondered if it were actually possible – but soon he was scissoring me open with both speed and gentleness, having me groaning in ecstasy. 

“Oh my God!” I moaned. I was going to come right there and then....

The bastard chose that moment to grab the base of my cock, making my eyes water in a terrible mixture of pleasure and pain. Suddenly I knew just how a volcano felt before it exploded.

“Please!” I moaned, suddenly glad that our rooms in 221B were so isolated.

He must have opened my up sufficiently, for he was pushing in. And in. And in. And in.

What was left of my mind finally understood the baggy trousers that he always wore! 

I came out with a noise that would have made more sense emanating from a walrus mating colony. And with that he somehow managed to change his angle of attack, even whilst still hugging me to him, and he struck my prostate full on. I let out a roar, he relaxed his vice-like grip and I came violently, so blissed out that even my over-sensitive cock did not register with my frazzled brain. He followed me over the edge seconds later, then kissed me fiercely, before leaving what would certainly be an impressive love-bite on my neck. 

“Claiming me already?” I sighed happily.

“You are mine”, he growled. “Mine, John. Always and forever."

“I always was”, I agreed. “And I always will be. Always and forever.”

I did not think that I had ever felt so happy, so complete, so....

“All right”, he grinned. “Ready for Round Two?”

My eyes widened. What sort of monster had I unleashed here?

+~+~+

I was about to find out!

+~+~+

In our first full case back together, Miss Bradbury requests the help of Sherlock and what is left of me to sort out a particularly unpleasant type of leech.


End file.
